


Everything That's Good

by beautyinstarlight



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, NSFW, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:00:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22355257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautyinstarlight/pseuds/beautyinstarlight
Summary: It wasn’t in you to freeze. You were sure footed, confident. A force to be reckoned with. It’s what was most admired about you from your colleagues who you don’t let in. It’s certainly not what Clint or Sam admire about you. It’s not what James loves about you. It’s not what he loved about you.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, past Steve Rogers/Reader
Kudos: 38





	Everything That's Good

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into smut. Also Steve isn't a big part of this. Sorry if you expected more of him. Also, you can find my tumblr [ here ](https://comeonbacktothefrontporch.tumblr.com/).

It wasn’t in you to freeze. You were sure footed, confident. A force to be reckoned with. It’s what was most admired about you from your colleagues who you don’t let in. It’s certainly not what Clint or Sam admire about you. It’s not what James loves about you. It’s not what he loved about you. Yet, here you are, face to face with a man you never thought you would see again. The man you loved. The man you hated. And in the end, he became the man you grieved, frozen in place, unable to breathe.

You had been gone for a week; said your goodbyes to the man with bright blue eyes and cropped, dark hair, a sly smile on his lips as he drug you back in for just one more. It was a struggle with him not by your side. The lazy, drawn-out days back home with your family. Bouncing from house to house, conversing with parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, each one asking about the man who had finally put that smile back on your face. But now, here in this moment, that smile is gone, your blood run cold as if you’ve seen a ghost. You’re sure it must be, a memory long forgotten come back from the dead, and when he says your name, it’s soft and sweet; the way he said it in the dark, pulling you closer in the cool night air, kissing down the back of your neck.

It’s that memory that pulls you out, dazed and confused and over his shoulder stands James and the look on his face is even softer, an apology. You hold his gaze, ignoring Steve in front of you, a silent conversation between you. His movement catches your sight, and you focus turns to Steve who is looking at Bucky. You ignore him then, pushing your way past them both; Steve’s soft utterance of your name and Bucky’s soft call of “sweetheart”. And it hurts, and you don’t know why. You can’t place it and you don’t know if you want to. You place your suitcase on the bed, unzipping it to unpack your things. You’re in the midst of placing your shirts into the open drawer when you hear a soft knock before Bucky slips in.

He stays by the door, giving you space and you are all too grateful for it. He’s silent for a moment before he speaks, “How was your trip home?”

It’s a safe question, you know, but you find yourself unable to speak, the words stuck in your throat. So you continue to unpack, the task helping you. You’re caught off guard when he moves, silent, one hand stopping on your waist and the other pulling your arm so you face him. And again, you don’t know why, but you feel the dam break when you look into his eyes, and you let out a sob as he gathers you into his arms, one hand pulling you closer and the other tangling in your hair, guiding you to his chest. It’s suddenly all too much and not enough and you snake your arms around his waist and it’s like you’re holding onto a life preserver in the middle of the ocean.

You aren’t sure how long you stand there, wrapped in his embrace, but eventually the tears run dry and your heart feels lighter. Bucky is running his hand up and down your back; warm, real and there, the missing piece to ground you where the cold steel would fail. You close your eyes, savoring this moment, the comfort of the man who has been by your side for the last two years, who watched you pick up the pieces of your heart and ever so slowly piece them together. Outside the room you pick up the slow hum of the television and the even softer sounds of someone moving around the kitchen, but underneath you, beating loudly in your ear is the rhythm that soothes you to sleep every night. The steady thump, thump, thump currently guiding you back to reality.

“Is he real?” Your voice is soft but scratchy, a reminder of the short pain you felt. You feel him sigh and nod his head, and you didn’t need to hear the resounding “yes”, but it came anyway.

“I’m sorry,” you said, voice quiet and sad and he holds you tighter, and it’s almost as if you can feel the love flow from him into you.

“Sweetheart”, and it’s a prayer on his tongue, and you feel so much from that one word you want to cry again, but there is nothing left, “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

You stand in silence for a few moments longer before finally pulling away from his embrace, “How long has he been back?”

The moment is broken and you know he’s watching you slip back into that character. The person who stares enemies down just before the final battle, and you know, just for a moment that he wishes you wouldn’t.

“He came back this morning,” he says, and you look to him, “I was going to call to give you a heads up, but he was with me all day, and the one moment I had to myself, when I went to use the bathroom, I forgot my phone. I was hoping he would have left before you got home.”

You nod, letting out a breath, “It’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s.”

You move to the closet and begin to change, pulling off your jeans and your shirt goes next leaving you bare but for the undergarments you wear. You’re stopped from further action, Bucky’s hand coming up to caress the raised skin on your shoulder, kissing the scar softly before he turns you around and taking the material you have gathered in your hands, capturing your lips as he throws the fabric over his shoulder. You laugh softly when he picks you up easily, your legs wrapping around his waist as he lays you back against the pillows placed on your bed.

His hands move up to cup your face, running his thumbs lightly over your eyelids, then your cheeks and finally settling just below your jaw, and finally leaning down and capturing your lips. He pulls back slightly, closer still and whispers softly, a secret meant only for you to hear, “I love you.”

And in this moment, no matter what happens, nothing else to compare to this, and so you answer with a tease, “I know.”

The unknown waits until tomorrow, a conversation to be had, but what you leave unsaid at this moment is a truth that you’ve spoken a hundred times before in the still of night under the cover of moonlight. It’s a simple magic only he can give you when you meet the solid lines of his body, skin against skin and the assurance that his heart belongs to you in each kiss he presses into your naked skin. You can feel your body sigh in relief with his touch, his hand moving down your side, light and gentle, always leaving you craving more. He sits up abruptly, removing his shirt and shoving his jeans off, and your hands move up, tracing up his abdomen and you feel the skin jump under your touch.

He’s on you again before you can think, his lips meeting yours and you part them, licking into his mouth as his hand meet yours, bringing them above your head, his body stretching out against yours, his weight a pleasant comfort as you open your legs allowing him to rest in the space you’ve created. You can feel him there, the hardness of his body pressing closer and closer and yet still not close enough, blocked by simple layers of fabric. He releases your hands, his own flesh moving under you to undo the ties of your bra, pulling it away once it’s loose, his gaze intense as he stares down at you, his gaze intense as he takes in your heaving chest before meeting your eyes.

You can see the sparkle in his eyes from the moonlight filtering through the thin curtains, curling his fingers to run his knuckles down the center of you chest stopping at your naval just to watch your skin pebble against the cool metal of his arm and it steals your breath and he knows it. He moves down your body, removing your remaining article of clothing as he goes, kissing your thigh, nipping softly as he gives you a grin, before moving to settle between your thighs.

“No,” your voice is soft but sure and he meets your gaze, uncertainty in his eyes, “I need you, just you.”

The look he gives you is soft and he moves so he is level with you again, his voice soothing and calm, “You have me sweetheart, all of me.”

You push his underwear down as he reaches into the bedside table and pulls out the lube, preparing himself. He pumps himself a few times, coating himself in preparation and you draw his attention back to you, your hands cupping his cheeks to pull him closer. You kiss each eyelid softly before moving one hand to his neck, the other moving to hold his bicep as he enters you. You inhale sharply, his girth feeling more intense with no prep, but he stills, his hips resting against yours, his lips meeting your shoulder, mouthing at the skin there. You wait a moment, a breath and tug on his hair as you roll your hips up, and he nips at you before pulling back and pushing back in. You match him, thrust for thrust, licking into his mouth as he moves to kiss you, and you can tell he won’t last long, his breathing heavy and his grip on your hip just this side of painful. You breath his name, and he moves his hand from your hip to where you are joined, pressing hard and circling once, twice, three times before you throw your head back, mouth open to a silent scream. His lips find the junction of your neck and jaw, nipping there as you feel him stiffen as he reaches his peak.

You tangle your fingers into his hair, your eyes finding his before he kisses you softly as he pulls out, moving to rest behind you. He pulls the covers from underneath you both, tucking you under the sheets and quilt before bringing you close, tucking you into his chest. Your lay your head on his chest and he wraps an arm behind you, holding you close, the other resting, tangled in the roots at the back of your head.

It’s silent for some time before he speaks, “We’ll be okay.”

It’s a promise and deceleration at the same time, his voice soft but sure. You nod, your ear resting over his heart, the steady thump, thump, thump, playing it’s familiar melody and you answer, “We’ll be okay.”


End file.
